The Swish Of The Scythe Poem by Margaret O Driscoll

He took the scythe from the shed
on a warm Summer's day
Carried it over his shoulder
to the meadow, to cut hay

I sat on a ditch to watch
with my sheepdog by my side
I saw the long grass fall
with every swish of the scythe

The shining blade of the scythe
swished swiftly over the ground
The scent of freshly-cut grass
sweetened the air all around

Swiftly sliding stone on steel
under the hawthorn shade
Rhythmically, side after side
he deftly edged the blade

Taking his cap from his head
he'd wipe the sweat from his brow
The swish of the scythe in an arc
is still in my memory now